Page 90 of Auctioned for Her Blood
Should I run? No. He would outrun me. And if the bear plans to hurt me, wouldn’t he have done so already?
I reach forward, slowly, and he moves until my hand is against the fur at the side of his head. Without thinking, I thread my fingers into the soft warmth, and he moans, a rumbling sound that transfers into my body and almost makes me pull back my hand.
But gathering my courage I continue stroking the bear’s fur, and he rubs his head against my hip.
Then I remember why he wanted me to light the torch. Or at least why I wanted light. It’s crazy how I’ve been attributing human traits to this animal. Anthropomorphizing. That’s what it’s called.
But my survival instincts, or something inside me, urge me to believe that this animal wants my help. That he might spare my life if I do.
“Your paw,” I say gently. “May I see?”
He backs up to sit on his haunches and then raises his left paw toward me. It’s massive. More than a foot in width, with pads across the top that mimic human toes from the underside. Above that, claws extend several inches, sharpened to points that could rip me in shreds without effort.
My body tenses, bracing for a flesh-ripping swat, but the paw stops a foot ahead of my face and turns toward the light.
Something glints. Something metallic stuck between two of the meaty looking pads of his paw.
“That must hurt,” I say softly. It looks like it would be like having a huge splinter between your toes, one that gets jammed further in with each step.
The bear huffs.
“May I?”
He nods. This is not my imagination. This bear understands what I’m saying. There is no other explanation for what’s happening.
Less than a quarter inch of metal is protruding from the bear’s paw and, without any kind of a tool, I’m going to have to touch what looks like thick, leathery skin.
I place my index finger and thumb of one hand around the spot to brace it, then pinch the same digits of my other hand around the metal. I tug gently.
The bear’s bright amber eyes show so much pain it hurts my soul, and a low muffled howl struggles in his throat.
“I’m going to have to pull harder,” I tell him. Maybe it will be like ripping off a bandage, the faster the better.
He dips his head again, then looks at me with what seems like gratitude or at least trust in his eyes.
I dig into the fur beneath the metal, moving my fingers as low on the shard as I can, then I inhale a deep breath and pull.
An inch-long piece of metal comes out of his paw. The bear howls in pain and backs away from me. Then he rises on his hind legs and makes a noise—half roar, half howl—that penetrates every last part of me. He twists to the side, his back writhing as if he’s in even more pain.
What have I done? Will he kill me now that I’ve done what he wanted? Or worse, did someone put that shard there on purpose to tame him into submission?
He backs away into a dark shadow at the back of the cave, and his body convulses, his spine seeming to crack and change shape before my eyes. His roars transform from howls into something more human, and his fur contracts into his skin. He seems to be changing shape.
But I can’t trust my eyes. Once again he’s only a shadow in the darkness, even harder to see in detail now that my vision’s adjusted to the light.
My body is frozen, unable to act, and when I try to coax myself into movement, I’m not sure if my inaction is rooted in curiosity or fear.
Rubbing my eyes, I step forward as his body thrashes and turns, and the sound of breaking bones fills the air.
The beast collapses in a heap on the cave floor.
Is he dead?
“Are you okay?” I slowly step forward.
His back and shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall. He’s breathing. He’s alive.
“Do you need anything?” I know this beast has kindness inside him. He had an instinct to warm me when I was cold. I need to appeal to that side of his nature to keep him from eating me, and to protect me from the vampires out there.
